Sons of Destiny
by Jellico
Summary: AU of 'Our Father'. Sylar is indeed a Petrelli, but learning the truth leads to banishment from Arthur and a confrontation with Angela. Peter, too, isn't exactly thrilled by the news, so what now? Can the brothers overcome their animosity? Or are they fated to remain on opposite sides forever?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – The Truth

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Dominating the executive office at Pinehearst with his surprise entrance, Sylar was in his element. He'd been determined for this moment to arrive ever since Noah Bennett had slit his throat then rocked his world, but now the wait was over. He was face-to-face with Arthur Petrelli, seconds away from confronting this so-called father about his lineage, but more importantly, he had just the ability to help him identify the truth. He and Arthur weren't alone of course, Peter and the Haitian were also nearby, but one was powerless and the other weakened; they were no major threat to him at all. Aside from Sylar himself, the only potential menace in the room was Arthur, but even he could be wiped out in an instant the way Sylar was currently feeling.

He slowed – but didn't completely stop – the bullet that Peter had fired at "their" father, not the least bit troubled by the fear brewing on Arthur's face. The man should be afraid. His life was about to end. Smiling slightly as he announced there was no place he'd rather be than with family, Sylar waited a beat, cocked his head, then asked the only question that mattered to him.

"Are you really my family?"

Frozen in place and all too aware of the slug that was steadily spinning ever closer to his head, Arthur gazed at him warily. "Of course …" he replied, "I'm your father."

_No, you're not_, Sylar thought. Still, he kept his head cocked and listened to those five simple words as they exited the mouth of Peter's dad, waiting five full seconds longer than necessary for the tingle that would tell him he'd just been lied to. The moment it came, he was going to kill the man faster than he deserved for betraying him, and after that, he was going to find that conniving witch, Angela Petrelli, so he could do even worse things to her.

Sylar waited for that tingle and then waited some more, but as five seconds stretched to ten and no tremor ran through him, he hitched in a breath and dropped his right arm. His concentration shattered. Confusion was etched in his face as the bullet he'd slowed telekinetically was driven into the carpet by someone else, and in a daze, he watched Arthur straighten up then focus on him in disappointment. An angry flick of Arthur's wrist sent The Haitian into a wall at full force where he slid to the floor, concussed and unconscious, but Sylar barely registered the movement. He didn't notice Peter rushing to René's aid either. He was too shocked by what he'd just learned.

"You-you are my father," he stuttered. "I thought … Noah said—"

"Noah who? Noah Bennett?" Arthur kept a stern gaze on his son. "Gabriel, that man is a professional liar and a heartless bastard. After all he's done to you, that you would trust his word over mine disappoints me greatly, and I'm going to have to punish you for it, both you and your brother." As Peter heard that and looked over from his crouch in defensive alarm, Arthur hardened his tone." I won't have my boys holding me hostage or firing guns into my face."

Before Peter could stand, a bolt of lightning arced and struck him in the chest, cooking his torso right through his jacket before it was diverted by Sylar with a cry even louder than Peter's.

_**"DAD!"**_

Arthur cut the charge to Peter but left it sparking in the palm of his hand. "What is it?"

"Don't." Sylar moved to stand directly in front of his brother, all too aware of how vulnerable Peter was without the use of his abilities. His right arm rose up in preparation to do battle, hovering an inch above his waist. "Please, Dad. Don't."

"Give me one good reason why not, son."

"Because he's my brother." Sylar glanced at Peter gasping behind him then focused back on their father. Arthur was advancing, but Sylar refused to step aside. "I never had one before, Dad. I need him."

Within reach of his boys now, Arthur laid a firm hand on Sylar's arm then touched Peter's shoulder as well. "All right, Gabriel. If that's what you want, fine," he said. "Maybe a timeout with your mother is just what you two need to come to your senses about who I am and what I can do for you."

To Sylar, what happened next was like his last encounter with Hiro. One minute he was pinning Noah Bennett to the wall of his home in Costa Verde, giving the son-of-a-bitch exactly what he deserved, and the next that meddlesome Japanese do-gooder had shown up out of nowhere and transported him away, dumping him on one of the Channel Islands. He was with Peter this time instead of Elle, and it wasn't the dead of night since the sun was still setting wherever this was, but once again, he'd been teleported to a beach without his consent and without fair warning. He glanced around, trying to identify this new location, and then he looked over at Peter, who was glaring daggers at him.

"Where are we?"

"Who cares?" Peter winced and clutched his chest but didn't let the agony of near electrocution stop him from yelling at the man in front of him. "You're just as powerful as he is! You could've ended him!"

"You're wrong, Peter. He's stronger."

"No, he isn't! You only think he is now 'cause he's messing with your head, trying to be all paternal to you!"

"So why shouldn't he?" Sylar demanded. "Arthur Petrelli _is_ my dad just like he's yours."

"You didn't act like he was a minute ago! You were seconds away from finishing the job I started!"

"_That was Bennett's fault!_" As Peter staggered back from the unintended power in his voice, Sylar struggled visibly to control both his temper and the ability he'd taken from Jesse Murphy. He moderated his tone. "Look, Peter, I stopped believing we were related after what Bennett told me, but I don't doubt it anymore. Before I went to Pinehearst tonight, I acquired a new power—"

"You _acquired_?" Peter stared at him in disgust. "Don't you mean you stole it from someone by killing them to get it?"

"I had to," Sylar defended himself. "I needed a lie detector ability. After what Bennett told me, I had to know the truth about my family and now I do. We're brothers, Peter. Like it or not." Checking out their surroundings once more, Sylar furrowed his brow. "Seriously, man, where the hell are we?"

"Seriously, who cares where the hell we are?" Peter retorted. "We're not at Pinehearst anymore; that's for damn sure! How am I gonna stop my father from giving out abilities like candy from way the hell out here?"

Sylar opened his mouth to remind Peter that Arthur was his father too, but he was supplanted by Angela, who stumbled over from the treeline as gracefully as she could. Still dressed in a Prada outfit and high heels, it was clear to all that she hadn't packed for this side trip anymore than they had.

"Gabriel? Peter?" She noted the bleeding scratch to Peter's face along with the crispy state of his jacket. "You failed, didn't you?"

"What, you didn't know that I would? Why didn't you dream that Dad would do this to us?"

Angela patted her sweaty forehead with distaste. "Don't be snarky with me, Peter. You know my ability doesn't work that way. I have no control over what I dream, but since we're all here, I suggest we—"

"How many sons do you have, Mom? Is Sylar really my brother?"

Discomfited by the question, Angela looked at Peter uneasily, remembering his uncontrolled fury the last time he'd asked this question. Still, she did her best to mask her fear with a cool attitude. "Don't be silly, sweetheart. I already told you—"

"You know what, Mom?" Peter marched over to her. "Actually you didn't. You haven't told me anything yet." He jabbed a finger in Sylar's direction. "You only told _him_ and Dad told _him_ and _he_ told _me_, but _you_ haven't told me anything and I need to know. I need to hear it from _you_ in front of _him_." Peter glared at Sylar then shifted his gaze back to his mother. "Are we brothers or not?"

Angela returned his gaze sadly, her chest hitching once as she glanced at Sylar. "He's more than your brother, Peter. He's … he's your fraternal twin."

"My…?" As Sylar's eyes opened wide, Peter was too stupefied to finish his own sentence. His jaw flapped soundlessly for almost five seconds before he actually roared what he was thinking. _"WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU EVER TELL ME?"_

Angela didn't get a chance to respond. Before she could fashion a story that might appease her sons, Sylar took a step toward her, his height and dark clothing working together to intimidate all around him.

"Did you really try to kill me when I was born?"

"W-why of course not, Gabriel. I would never—"

Instinctively, Sylar's hand came up, the right one, his thumb and index finger poised to strangle or do some other kind of permanent damage. His lip curled as his voice rang cold.

"Don't do it, Mom. Not to me ever again, if you want to keep on living a truly wicked life. I can tell now when people are lying and what's coming out of your mouth right now is a lie." Sylar cocked his head a bit, his brown eyes narrowing dangerously. "And I don't want to hear it."

"I …" Angela looked helplessly at the son she's raised from birth, but Peter offered no assistance whatsoever. The anger coursing through his lean frame was clearly on a par with Gabriel's and it was entirely possible he wouldn't immediately come to her aid if his brother abruptly decided to attack her. She turned a fearful gaze on Sylar. "I-I did try to kill you," she replied softly. "But it wasn't right away. It was two weeks after you were born when I dreamed you would become what you became, a serial killer who targets specials and steals their abilities." Angela reached out to touch the son she'd abandoned shortly after birth, then hesitated, gradually retracting her arm. "My dreams are often open to interpretation, Gabriel, but that one was not. I understood what it meant and I acted. I had to."

"You had to." Sylar's voice was flat as he dropped his own right hand. "You had to try and drown me in a bathtub, and then when that didn't work because Dad caught you and saved his son, you had to give me away so I grew up without my family. All that because you misinterpreted one dream."

"I didn't—"

Sylar's nostrils flared. "You did, Mom. I became a serial killer because I wanted power and I had no one to guide me, no real parents to show me another way. I was Gabriel for so long but I turned into Sylar because _you_ weren't there for me the way a real mother is supposed to be."

Angela straightened her spine, her own gaze beginning to harden. "That is not true, Gabriel."

"Isn't it?" Sylar challenged. "Did you know your husband taught me to how to acquire new powers without killing?" Without waiting for Angela to answer, Sylar raised his arms and turned them over, cupping deadly electricity in his palms. His brown eyes reflected the glow in his hands as a proud smile began to form. "Well, he did, two days ago with Elle. He taught me empathy." Abruptly, Sylar cut the charge and lost his smile. "If you had let Dad be my father from the start, I wouldn't have become the man who murdered so many people and attacked his own niece. I wouldn't have had to kill anyone. My victims are yours too, _Momma_, every single one of them."

Angela's irritation seemed to wilt as she looked to Peter to see if he believed what his brother had just said. What she saw was disheartening, but not so to Sylar, who noted the exchange and felt the beginnings of a vengeful satisfaction.

"Tell me," he continued, "how does a woman who carries twins for nine months just toss one away like he's nothing? Didn't you care? What kind of a mother are you?"

Angela didn't dare answer that last question with any degree of truth. Drawing hard on the inner strength that had once led her to poison her beloved spouse of forty years, she straightened her back once more then replied to the first thing Sylar had asked.

"How does a mother do what I did, Gabriel? Well, for one thing it's easier to do when a mother doesn't know for nine months that she _is_ carrying twins."

"You didn't _know_? What do you mean you didn't _know_?"

"I mean exactly what I said, young man. I didn't know."

Peter had been silent for awhile but he spoke up now, his skepticism plain as he looked from Sylar back to Angela. "That can't be," he told his mother. "You didn't have us in 1777, Mom, and you and Dad had money. You must've had some of the best pre-natal care possible in New York City."

"Did I?" Angela smiled without amusement. "If you really think so, Peter, then you don't know me very well. I don't like doctors and I don't trust them either."

"Since when? Why not?"

Angela fell silent for well over a minute as her gaze drifted from her sons to the waves lapping at the beach. Finally, she seemed to shake off her memories in order to focus on the here and now.

"My reasons are not important, Peter. Suffice it to say that after certain … experiences … I had as a teenager, I've never been able to withstand doctors or their multitude of tests for any extended period of time. When I was pregnant with you boys I had one ultrasound at seven weeks, and then I took the pre-natal vitamins that I was prescribed."

"That was it?"

"Yes, dear. There were no more ultrasounds or anything else besides the occasional stethoscope against my stomach. It was risky, I suppose, but I simply used common sense to stay in good health."

"But—"

"But nothing, Peter. I wasn't a novice after all. It was the same regimen I followed with Nathan and he came out fine."

Ever the nurse, Peter was beyond astounded. "But you're so controlling! How could you leave our health totally up to chance like that? Didn't you want to know in advance if we might have birth defects or –"

"There was no need for that." Angela gave her agitated son a pinched smile. "If there were going to be any major problems with you, I'm sure I would have dreamed it."

Sylar's gaze hardened at those words, but Angela pretended not to notice. She kept her full attention on Peter whose knowledge of medicine seemed to forbid him from dropping the subject.

"But your obstetrician…he must have guessed you were carrying more than one baby. You let him listen with his stethoscope, didn't you? You said he—"

"Peter, Dr. Cummings was perhaps not as competent as your father and I believed him to be when we first sought his services. In any case, he told us after you boys were born that you must have been very close in the womb. Your hearts consistently beat as one."

"I don't believe this!" Instantly, Peter turned on Sylar. "What's your birth date?"

"You know what it is!" Sylar snapped impatiently. "It's the same as yours, Peter: December 23rd, 1979."

"This can't be!" Peter exploded, turning back to his mother. "I've seen my birth certificate, Mom, and it doesn't say anything about me being a twin!"

Angela had an answer for that too. "That's because your father and I had it doctored to avoid awkward questions. It was best, Peter, for both of you."

Peter and Sylar exchanged a fulminating look. Neither one understood how their mother could speak so callously about events that affected them so profoundly, and neither one quite knew what to do with the shock, the hurt and the rage that was building ever higher. Peter, in particular, had never felt so betrayed. How could his own family – the people who were supposed to love him above all others – deceive him so well for so long? Why hadn't his big brother ever told him who Sylar really was? Peter had to know. He stepped into Angela's personal space and demanded the truth.

"How did you get Nathan to keep this secret from me all this time, Mom? He wouldn't do that on his own, so what? Did you and Dad set René on him?"

A guilty flush seemed to color Angela's cheeks. "No, we didn't have to. Your brother spent the Christmas holidays with Nonno and Bella that year, and by the time he returned, everything was settled. The only sibling he ever knew was you."

"And now?" Peter persisted. "Does he even know yet, or are you keeping him in the dark just like you've been keeping me?"

Angela glanced at Sylar then looked away. "I haven't told Nathan anything," she admitted. She eased away from Peter, far from comfortable with his hot, accusatory breath misting her face. "Your father may have at this point, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if he hasn't. It's not an easy announcement to make to your children."

_It's not an easy thing to hear either_, Peter thought bitterly but aloud he said, "When we get back I want to see my original birth certificate."

"That can be arranged."

"Good because I want to see it."

Nodding briefly to signal her understanding, Angela turned a complaisant smile on Sylar. "Gabriel dear, how about you?"

"I don't need to see it," the serial killer scowled. "But what I do need is to know why you ever stepped forward as my mother. I never knew about you. I never even suspected our relationship, so why the hell did you tell me I was your son?"

"I told you because I had to," Angela stated gently but without apology. "The coma we induced in you after you and Elle released all of Level 5, well, that wasn't going to hold you for long. You're too powerful for that. You needed to be controlled and I knew instinctively that the only person you would listen to is your mother."

Sylar looked briefly at Peter then focused his hard gaze once again on Angela. "You used me to save Peter," he stated venomously, "the only one of us you ever cared for."

"That's not entirely true."

"So you love me then?" Sylar demanded. "Is that what you're saying?"

Angela certainly wasn't saying that, but she was not a fool and she knew she had to say something. Both of her sons were studying her face and awaiting her reply, neither one of them willing to back down from their pressured silence. Angela looked from one to the other with a carefully neutral expression before approaching the son she'd abandoned.

"I did love you once, Gabriel … but then I stopped when I dreamed that you would kill us all." She lay a cool and bejeweled hand over Sylar's pounding heart before reaching up to cup his left cheek. "I can love you again, dear, if you can be the son that I need. Can you do that?"

Sylar's lips twisted upwards but there was nothing warm or inviting about his smile. "No such thing as unconditional love, huh, Momma?"

Angela didn't answer and Sylar didn't wait around to see if she would, given enough time. He stared down a moment longer at the woman who had both given him life and tried to take it back, and then he pushed her hand off his face and walked past Peter into the night.

Peter watched him go until his tall, brooding form had been swallowed by the dense vegetation, and then the former hospice nurse turned to face his mother.

"How could you do this to us?"

Angela's eyes were gleaming suspiciously. "I did it out of love, Peter. You were born first with the sweetest little face, and Gabriel followed you eight minutes later. I loved him just as much as I loved you—"

"And yet you could kill him."

"Yes, I could." Angela brushed at her tears with impatience, the telltale shine to her eyes receding as her features hardened. "I made a choice to protect my family, Peter, and I refuse to regret it. Gabriel was a danger to you, to me, to everyone I cared for. I couldn't raise him after my dream. Your father's decision to have him adopted, after I failed in my attempt to kill him, was the next most merciful thing; you'll have to trust me on this."

Peter shook his head in angry disbelief. "How can I after learning all this?"

"You must," Angela stated bluntly. "I'm your mother and I know best." Before Peter could respond – which he was clearly itching to do – Angela steamrolled ahead. "Now in case you're wondering where your father put us, we're on Henderson Island in the south Pacific. Fortunately for us, it's the right time of year for visitors from Pitcairn to come collect wood, so we won't be here long at all before we're rescued."

"And you know this how?" Peter snapped.

"Another one of my dreams, dear." Angela waved her hand dismissively as she forced herself to take in their surroundings once more. "I had hoped shooting Arthur would avert this little detour we're on, but obviously, that wasn't to be."

"I thought you said you didn't dream Dad would do this to us."

"Did I?" Angela said, knowing full well she had. "Well, no matter now. What's important is that if I interpreted my latest dream correctly, our saviors should be making an appearance within twenty-four hours, which means we can be back in New York within a week, if we're lucky. In the meantime, I suggest we sit here and –"

That was enough for Peter, who turned and walked away. Angela called after him, demanding he stay so they could re-strategize together before their return to civilization, but Peter paid her voice no heed. She wanted him to cozy up beside her and talk about Pinehearst? After what she'd just confessed about their family? She was either crazier than her recently-resurrected husband, or she was even more indifferent to his feelings than he'd ever imagined she could be.

Peter Petrelli had a second brother – a twin no less and Sylar of all people – but his own mother had never told him. She'd just shipped the guy off in secret like she'd done to Claire, leaving her sons to discover purely by accident what their relationships were to each other. Both the times that Peter had died at Sylar's hand, she could have told him who it was that had tried to murder him, but no, she'd kept her secrets and allowed a hatred to burgeon between them, a rancor Peter didn't know what do with now or how to channel again.

Did he still hate the man he'd always known as Sylar?

_Could_ he still hate him after the discoveries he'd just made?

Peter wasn't sure. The animosity he'd felt for so long had slipped temporarily when Sylar had rescued him from Mohinder the week before, but then less than an hour later, Sylar had stayed at Pinehearst to support their dad. That decision alone had made him suspect again, regardless of the fact that he'd saved Peter's life a second time in so doing.

He was not fully reformed; Peter had no doubts about that. Sylar might very well remain a threat to one and all the rest of his life because his native power was truly a selfish, consuming beast. It was so easy to lose control of it. Peter knew of its effects firsthand from the brief but deadly experiences he'd had it. There was little doubt that The Hunger would have devoured him too if Arthur Petrelli hadn't stolen the ability from him.

Knowing this as he did, though, what was Peter supposed to do? Forgive Sylar or take advantage of their confined proximity to try and kill him?

Was he obligated to try and reform him?

If Peter had never grown up with Nathan, never collected any good memories along the way to offset the bad he disliked in his older brother, what would he have done? Could he still have grown to love Nathan simply by virtue of their _being_ brothers?

Peter had no easy answers. He knew Sylar was capable of doing good – he'd seen it with his own eyes – but their history was so tainted, so thoroughly skewed by pain and betrayal and the self-centered machinations of evil parents, how could he ever learn to trust the man now?

More importantly, did Peter even want to? Was he genuinely willing to try?

Overwhelmed by the life-altering decision he had to make, and wishing more than ever that he could time-travel to a future where the verdict was already in, Peter did the next best thing.

He broke into a run.

It wasn't easy in clunky boots and black jeans when the surface he was travelling was far better suited to bare feet and board shorts, but Peter didn't let that stop him. He dismissed the lingering ache in his chest and ran along the shoreline as far as it would take him, and then he ploughed past a few coconut trees straight into the undergrowth. There, vines and ferns alike conspired to shred what was left of his jacket and scratch his skin, but Peter pushed on until he was just too tired to keep fighting against nature. Panting and whipped, he finally sank against a tree trunk onto a small bed of moss, ignoring the sweat and the small trickles of blood that coursed down the sides of his face. He didn't know where he was and he didn't care. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his arms, trying not to think of Sylar, who was equally alone somewhere else on this island. He wasn't his brother's keeper, after all, and Sylar – _Gabriel_ – didn't need him.

And Peter sure as hell didn't need him either.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The First Step

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With no light pollution to spoil it, the sunrise on Henderson Island was almost too stunning to behold, the gold-, grey- and blue-flecked clouds truly a wonder never seen in the Americas. To the brooding man in black, however, it was unwelcome and bothersome, a distraction he didn't need after a night he longed to forget.

Sylar was exhausted, his eyes grainy from the sleep that had eluded him, but tired as he was, his mind simply could not rest. As he sat in the sand with his back propped by a fallen log exactly where he'd collapsed alone so many hours before, the super-powered villain feared by every special in New York had only one thought on his mind: he was a Petrelli, not a Gray. A _Petrelli_. He had a father and two brothers, whereas before he'd had none, and his mother, the woman who'd given him birth, well, she wasn't dead after all. He hadn't killed her, hadn't stabbed her through the chest with a pair of scissors then painted the floor of her apartment in blood.

In short, he had a family, but the bitch of it was … he still wasn't wanted. The blood relatives he'd longed for existed now, but they were still tantalizingly out of reach, like a mirage that never faded, only followed him and taunted him wherever he looked. The dad he'd missed for 83% of his life had just exiled him halfway around the world, and his dear old mom wasn't anything like he needed her to be. Angela was never going to dote on him like Virginia used to; she wasn't ever going to make him feel adored or cherished. Brother Nathan was going to be total write-off, Sylar knew that already even without proof, and as for his other sibling, the pensive twin he could sense approaching him even now, well, that was probably going to be the biggest disappointment of all.

As Peter exited the treeline west of where he sat, Sylar turned his back to him to signify his disinterest in conversation. Of course, he soon discovered he might as well have simply stood up with open arms. Peter marched right up to the fallen log he was leaning against then stared down at him in silence, his entire stance a cross between not wanting to be there and a stubborn determination to stay put and do the right thing. Sylar tolerated his presence for less than three seconds before he burst.

"_What, Peter? What do you want?" _

"You okay?"

"_No, so I suggest you leave."_

Sylar had injected as much venom into his voice as he could muster, but either he was losing his touch as a serial killer, or his new brother was even less intimidated by him than before. Instead of departing hastily like anyone else with a modicum of self-preservation would, Peter merely plunked his ass down in the sand beside him, even if he did take care to keep a good four feet's distance between them.

"One of the Pitcairn islands," he said casually.

"_What about it?"_ Sylar spat.

"That's where we are – where Dad's dumped us – in case you're still wondering. Mom told me last night."

Sylar glared in response at first, not wanting to get roped into talking things out when he just wanted to sit and feel resentful … but try at he might, he couldn't keep it up. Peter and that damned disarming way he had about him was in overdrive, and as a result, every wall within reach was crumbling. Sylar's shoulders began to slump.

"Mutiny on the Bounty, huh? Fitting, I guess, since we betrayed him."

Peter shot him a look. "He betrayed us first. Listen … never mind what Mom said to you before. She forgets to censor herself, which means she says a ton of things she shouldn't."

"Yeah," Sylar said balefully, "I noticed."

"Just don't take it too personally. She's burned me too over the last year and it's mostly Dad's fault. She changed after he died." At that, Peter caught himself and snorted in disgust. "I mean, since he faked his death."

"Lucky me."

"_And_ me _and_ a lot of people." Peter sharpened his tone at Sylar's attitude. "You're not the only one on Earth who wishes his parents were different, you know. You're not the only one Mom's hurt."

Sylar bristled at the implication that he was being selfish without cause because he sure as hell _did_ have cause. "What the hell do you know?" he barked. "You're her favorite!"

"What do _I _know?" Peter's eyes sparked fire. "I know Dad could've stolen your abilities at least twice now and he hasn't, so guess who _his_ new favorite son is?" When Sylar opened his mouth to retaliate, Peter held up a hand to cut him off and took a calming breath. "Look, Gabriel, I didn't come here to fight. I came to tell you I could've used you growing up."

"You and everyone else," Sylar snapped. "I can't count anymore the number of people trying to exploit me in some way, looking to—"

"That's not what I meant."

"Really."

"Yeah, really." Peter looked at him without constraint. "I meant it would've been good having another brother around. It would've helped having one closer to me in age than Nathan."

"Is that even possible someone being closer to you than Nathan?" Sylar stared back at him hard, daring him to lie. "You don't want me for a brother. You don't even believe I _am_ your brother—

"Yes I do."

"Since when?"

"Since I made up my mind to track you down and come find your sorry ass instead of leaving you out here alone to sulk."

Momentarily stumped, Sylar quickly recovered. "Well, great. That just leaves Nathan to convince, but that won't matter once we get off this godforsaken island because you'll just run to him so the two of you can conspire against me. Tell me, how long after we get back will it be before one of you jams an ice pick through my brainstem while the other pins me down?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "That's not gonna happen."

"Forgive me if I have serious doubts."

"Well, you shouldn't."

"Well, I do and nothing you can say is going to change my mind right now. I know exactly where I stand with you two. I'm a third and rusty wheel on a well-oiled tandem bicycle. You and Nathan—"

"Have more differences than similarities," Peter interrupted, "and you would know that if you knew anything about us. Sure we're close but he's not exactly my best friend anymore."

"That's not what I heard," Sylar grumbled.

"Well, you heard wrong," Peter retorted just as quickly. "Nathan has no faith in me just like my parents – like _our_ parents – don't." Peter waited a beat then inched a bit closer to his brother. "Listen, we don't have to be enemies anymore, Gabriel. I just …I'm hoping things'll be different between us. Four years down the line our future selves are pretty close from the way you greeted me."

"And how was that?" Sylar asked before he could stop himself. "With a kick to the head?"

"No," Peter replied patiently, "you greeted me with a hug like we were family in more than just blood. Your son called me 'Uncle Peter' and everything. You were happy to see me."

"Wait … I have a son?"

Peter nodded. "In the future you do. You'd move mountains for him. You stifle your Hunger for him, you love him that much."

Sylar stared at Peter for a moment then turned away and grew quiet, shaken by what he'd just heard. It wasn't a lie, he knew, otherwise he would have felt that tingle in the back of his head, but how it _became_ true is what he craved to know.

Now that Elle was dead, who was ever going to love him long enough to carry his child? And how exactly were he and Peter going to move beyond their current relationship to becoming friends rather than just brothers? Did it start now just by talking to each other without antagonism? If so, which of them was going to take the first step?

Sylar didn't have to think long about that last question because it was obviously Peter. Peter was the one who'd sought him out so he wouldn't feel alone, and he was also the one trying to bridge the gap between them. It wasn't Peter's sarcasm and bitterness that was undermining the conversation they'd had so far. Those were coming exclusively from Sylar himself.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Sylar studied Peter under his lashes, noting for the first time the tears to his clothes and the fresh scratches on his face.

"You look like hell," he announced.

"Thanks."

Silence reigned for another minute before Sylar cleared his throat. "I could've used you too," he finally admitted. "Thanks for coming back for me at Pinehearst … you know, tracking me down in Dad's office."

"You're welcome, but it was no big deal." Peter shrugged. "You didn't exactly need my help."

"Still, it was a big risk you took considering you had no powers to defend yourself if you'd been caught."

"It's what brothers do, right? Look out for each other? Isn't that what you told me?" When Sylar didn't reply, only ducked his head a bit, Peter inched closer once again then nudged his foot to get his attention. "Thanks for slowing my fall out the window … and for stopping Dad from trying to kill me a little while ago. You've saved me from him. Twice."

"I'm not sure that counts considering I also killed you twice last year."

Peter took in the faint blush to Sylar's cheeks and smirked inwardly. "Well, to be fair, I killed you back last week, and then when you had the nerve to survive a broken neck, I forced your ass into a coma. Plus, in that future I'm trying to stop, I interrupt your harmony at home in a major, _major_ way. Let's not do this." As Sylar seemed poised to argue, Peter pinned him with a look. "I mean it, Gabriel. No re-hashing history, no more apologizing for whatever we did before today, before this moment. We can't change it, and it probably wouldn't have happened anyway without Mom and Dad's meddling, so let's just forget it and start fresh. Deal?"

"No."

"_No_? What do you mean, '_No'_"?

"I mean we _could_ change it," Sylar insisted. "You're friends with Hiro, aren't you? You could convince him to take us back to 1979 so we could stop Mom and Dad from giving me away in the first place."

Peter hesitated, but then slowly shook his head. "I can't ask Hiro that, and even if I could, he would never do it. Messing with history is against his Bushido code. We just have to move forward and forget everything else."

"I know how things work, "Sylar scowled, "and I'm telling you right now that's not possible."

"I'm willing to try if you are."

The expression on Peter's face said he was sincere, which meant Sylar had better step up as well, if this tentative truce between them was ever going to last. He worked his jaw for a moment then gradually let his eyes drift out over the ocean, allowing the sight and sound of the lapping water to bleed away his disappointment. Beside him, he could sense Peter relaxing as well, his fingers unconsciously drawing in the sand the helix symbol from Hiro's sword.

Sylar watched him from the corner of his eye for a bit then shifted position so he was sitting up straight with his knees drawn in. He took a handful of sand himself then rested his forearms on his knees, watching the warm granules trickle from his palm. Was Peter's heart still beating in time with his own? Sylar didn't know now that he no longer had enhanced hearing as one of his abilities … but more than a small part of him liked to think so.

"Peter."

"What?"

"Us being twins, I guess that explains why you're the only other special I found like me."

Without meaning to, Peter stiffened imperceptibly. "Like you how?"

"Juggling more than one ability." Sylar thought back in amazement to the various people he'd encountered over the last year, oblivious to Peter's reaction beside him. "Everyone else I know only has one."

"Well now I have less than that," Peter pointed out, still feeling tense but for an entirely new reason, "and you're forgetting Dad. Not counting whatever powers he had before, he has about ten more thanks to what he stole from me."

A definite tinge of bitterness had tainted Peter's tone and Sylar flinched in sympathy. He wished he hadn't raised the issue, and he waited for Peter to chide him for it, but nothing happened. Torn between asking what was on his mind and not riling his brother further, he finally gave in to his curiosity.

"Are they … you know … coming back?"

"Nope." Peter forced himself to reply calmly despite the turmoil raging inside. "I've tried – a lot – but nothing's working. Dad said they're gone for good."

Sylar bit his lip for a moment. "You, uh, think he's still mad at us?"

"Truth?"

Sylar shot Peter a look, the sardonic arch to his thick right eyebrow reminding his sibling that a lie would be detected instantly. Peter got the message.

"Fine. The truth is, if we were just ten years younger, we wouldn't be banished to some island in the South Pacific ocean. We'd only wish we had been."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we'd be over Arthur Petrelli's knees right now getting an ass-beating we'd never forget."

Sylar snorted a laugh then sobered somewhat when he saw Peter wasn't sharing his amusement.

"You're serious."

"Totally."

"I've never been punished that way," Sylar admitted, his face pensive. He took in the skepticism on Peter's face and smirked. "I can't believe you were."

"And I can't believe you weren't," Peter said. "I thought every kid gets it at least once."

"Not me."

"You sure about that?" Peter wished he had a lie detector ability of his own at that moment. "You never once got your butt kicked by your adoptive dad for breaking the rules?"

"My adoptive dad took off before I could even remember him, Peter."

"Well, what about your mom?"

The fading smile on Sylar's face disappeared completely. "My mom is Angela Petrelli or have you forgotten that fact already?"

"Don't be like that; you know what I mean." It felt strange to Peter that he knew virtually nothing of the woman who'd fostered his twin for over twenty-five years. The only thing he knew was that Sylar had killed her. "What about the woman who raised you?" he asked. "What was her name?"

"Her name was Virginia," Sylar said stiffly. "And she didn't hit me. She … she used guilt to control me."

"Guilt?"

"Yes, guilt. She knew I didn't like to disappoint her."

Peter gave his brother the moment he clearly needed to remember her, then did what he could to ease the tension that kept cropping up between them. "Well, count yourself lucky then that you didn't grow up as my twin." He tossed a clump of sand lightheartedly in Sylar's direction. "I've seen enough of you in action to know you're just as stubborn as I am, so I guarantee you would've gotten in trouble with Dad just as much as I did. Would you believe he actually told me I was grounded after he first took away my powers?"

Still sulking somewhat, Sylar brushed the sand from his jeans but refused to reply, which had absolutely no impact on his brother. Driven and focused, Peter turned to face him more fully, completely ignoring his dour mood.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"I know what you're thinking, Gabriel. You're thinking that if you'd grown up with our father, life would've been better, maybe even perfect, but that's not true so don't think it. Dad's not a good man or a good father."

"He was to me when I was at Pinehearst."

"Oh really? So you agree with him dumping us here? You agree with what he did to Mom, what he did to me?" When Sylar tensed his jaw but didn't answer, Peter pressed on. "Look, we have to stop him, whatever it takes. He can't give out abilities to people who weren't meant to have them. It'll destroy the world; people won't control themselves. I always thought they would, but they won't. We can't let Dad do this."

"So you keep saying, but we already tried to stop him. It didn't take, Peter."

"_I_tried, Gabriel. _You_ didn't lift a finger."

That wasn't exactly true. Sylar _had_ lifted a finger … but then he'd let it drop without doing any damage, too shocked to do anything at all once he'd learned he was indeed Arthur Petrelli's son. Was he really as powerful as his father? Sylar suspected he must be if he could hold the man in place the way he had while awaiting an answer to that all-important question, but that didn't mean he was willing to test this theory. God knows, he had enough enemies. What he needed was his family and what he wanted was a father.

He scowled at Peter, his shoulder muscles stretched tight. "Look, I don't want everyone becoming special like we are, but killing our father can't be the only solution. And if it is, too bad. I'm not doing it."

"You almost did."

"That was before when Noah tricked me into questioning the truth." Sylar clenched his fists at the thought of Bennett and the cutting, hurtful lies he'd told. A murderous rage at the man was threatening to build but Sylar bit down on it as he focused on his brother. "Now that I know what's real, I can't just off our dad. I've killed a parent before and it's not something I can live with again."

"But you threatened to kill Mom just last night if she lied to you—"

"And I was lying myself when I said I would do that to her." Ashamed and angry, Sylar looked away, unable to meet Peter's eyes. "She's our mother, Peter; I can't kill her no matter how manipulative she is. And I can't kill Dad for the same damn reason so quit asking me to. I don't want him dead. Whatever's he's done, I've sure as hell done just as much, if not worse."

"But Gabriel, we have t—"

"Stop calling me that. My name is Sylar."

"Not anymore it's not. My brother's name is Gabriel."

"Gabriel is weak!" Sylar snapped in disgust. "He's a—"

"He's a good person inside with the potential to save the world." Without hesitation, Peter reached over and laid a hand on Sylar's arm. "He has to be. He's my twin."

The urge to do what he'd done to Elle, or at the very least to shove Peter away telekinetically and retort something cruel was there – so close – but once again, Peter's honesty and unwavering faith were disarming. Though Sylar tried not to, an irritated sigh of defeat escaped him. "You really think people can change who they are, don't you?"

"I know they can," Peter said simply. "I'm living proof and so are you."

"I could disappoint you."

"Wouldn't matter if you did. You're family now. That means something to me." Peter squeezed Sylar's arm then let his hand drop, taking in the sunrise. "The sun's up. Mom says we'll be rescued later today, so I say we go."

"Go where?"

"Go back to where we left her. We need to meet up with her so we can plan our strategy about Dad." As Sylar's brows began to draw together, Peter forestalled his objections. "Listen, I heard you before, and I don't want to kill him either, but we have to find a way to stop him. The future isn't pretty if we don't."

"And what about Nathan?" Sylar looked hard at Peter, testing his resolve. "He's siding with Dad. I saw him working at Pinehearst."

Peter rose to his feet then held out a hand. "I know he is, but he's wrong and I have to change his mind somehow. And to do that, I need your help. I need my twin brother. Can I count on you?"

Sylar didn't move. "I'm not killing Dad – or Nathan – no matter what."

"Got it. Will you help me?"

Sylar gazed at the hand being offered and knew he was at a crossroads which would determine his future for quite some time to come. If he supported Peter in this, there would be no turning back. He would be a Petrelli – and more importantly, he would be the Petrelli that Peter needed him to be – for as long as they both breathed. He would be Peter's brother more than he would be Arthur's son, and that was definitely different from what he'd been craving all night. Was this change what he wanted now? Which family member would really stand by him in the end?

Trusting the very same instincts that had helped him to elude capture time and again over the last year, Sylar abruptly took Peter's hand and allowed his brother to help him stand. In thoughtful silence, he walked with him side by side up the beach and into the trees, wondering what they were going to talk about for the hours it was going to take them to find their mother. Within minutes, Peter answered that question with a fascinating declaration.

"I'm older by the way. Mom said I was born eight minutes before you."

Sylar stopped in his tracks. "When did she tell you that?"

"After you stormed off."

Sylar digested that a minute then smirked at Peter's back as he lengthened his stride to catch up. "Well, I'm taller so there. And my mouth isn't crooked."

"But your bottom teeth are and your knees are kinda knocked."

"Well, you walk bowlegged."

"At least I don't run like a girl."

"Jerk."

"Loser."

As Peter glanced back at him with a grin and Sylar surprised himself by returning it with ease, he thought of his power and what it allowed him to do. If understanding how things worked enabled him to figure out how to absorb other people's abilities, maybe he could figure out how to share abilities too. Peter had the same genetic marker he did, after all, and the guy was a natural empath. Between the two of them it should be more than possible to reverse whatever damage their dad had done and then –

And then what a pair he and his brother were going to make.


End file.
